


War And Pieces

by MelanieR



Category: Highlander: The Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23454043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelanieR/pseuds/MelanieR
Summary: Richie and Amanda are feuding but when Duncan and Methos step in it becomes worse when Richie and Amanda start plotting together.
Kudos: 13





	War And Pieces

France 1997

Duncan MacLeod barely looked up from his seat at the fore end of the barge as the two men approached, content to merely burrow deeper into his leather coat as the wind whipped around him. Only after Methos had helped Dawson aboard did he even acknowledge their presence, raising his head fractionally to be sure they'd seen him.

"A welcoming committee of one. Didn't know you were so fond of us, MacLeod," Methos quipped as they reached him.

"Don't flatter yourself. I just wanted a little peace and quiet."

"Well, you've got it. Anyone with any sense is inside out of the cold," Dawson informed him bluntly.

Duncan frowned at the insinuation but showed no signs of moving from his perch.

"I will admit that it's pretty peaceful this time of day," the Watcher continued, viewing their surroundings with a grudging admiration as they continued to huddle together in silence.

"I hate to interrupt this little back-to-nature consortium, but it is a little brisk out here," Methos commented, pulling his trenchcoat more closely around him.

"Meaning you want to go inside," Duncan translated.

"That would be my meaning, yes. I'm also assuming that the so called 'one-of-a-kind' text you wanted me to look at is actually inside out of the weather. You may not be affected by the damp, Highlander, but if it's as old as you say, I assure you *it* will be."

"So much for peace and quiet," MacLeod grumbled, eyeing the older Immortal over the collar of his coat. "All right, come on."

As they neared the doorway the unmistakable sounds of a very loud and very colorful argument hit them. Duncan sighed heavily, shook his head in a gesture of great weariness, and pushed the door open. Methos cast a questioning look over his shoulder at Dawson before following in his wake.

The threesome stopped just inside the doorway, the sheer volume of the altercation holding them at bay as Richie and Amanda-standing at opposite ends of the lower level-shouted at one another at the tops of their lungs.

Joe frowned down at the pair. "You've got to be kidding. Are they at it again?"

"Not again...still," Duncan corrected with obvious disgust. "This has been going on for nearly two weeks, now, and I've just about had it with both of them."

"I didn't ask last time I was here, but what started it, anyway?"

"Nothing," Duncan muttered, shifting his focus from the combatants to the men standing beside him. "Amanda had on a new outfit for a party week before last and she asked Richie if it made her look fat, and he said 'yes, a little.'"

"Ouch," Joe commented, wincing.

Methos shook his head. "He can't be *that* young."

"Oh, yes he can," Duncan replied with a small smile. "Of course Amanda got her revenge. A few days later she 'borrowed' his bike without permission and brought it back with a long scratch down the side."

"And Richie wasn't very happy about it," Joe concluded.

"You could say that."

The volume of the argument rose considerably for a moment, the opponents moving to stand within inches of each other, and it actually looked as if it might turn into a shoving match.

"Two weeks of this?" Joe asked, shaking his head in disbelief. "Five minutes is too much."

"At least you aren't exposed to it day in and day out," Duncan threw in. "I thought it was kind of funny at first, but now I'm about at the end of my rope," he admitted. "I tried talking to them, separately and together, and you see what good it did. Some days they barely say a word, and then it just starts all over again."

"Why don't you just kick one, or both of them, out?" Methos asked reasonably.

Duncan shook his head. "I can't. There have been reports of vandalism in the area lately, so I *asked* Richie to give up his place and stay here to help keep an eye on things when I'm not around. Besides, if he's going to be in France I'd like to know what he's up to."

Both men nodded at that. Knowing the youngest Immortal as they did this seemed a perfectly reasonable idea.

"Then Amanda just dropped in-that's what she does. They usually get along very well, but this time..."

"If you ask me, they're acting like a couple of kids," Joe said, voicing everyone's thoughts.

"A couple of brats is more like it," Methos amended.

Richie and Amanda were circling each other now, as if getting ready to move in for the kill and threats were flying fast and furious.

Richie chose that moment to make a dig about Amanda's extreme age and she didn't waste any time in picking up a nearby vase-that MacLeod had paid a fortune for-and hurling it at the youth's head. Richie ducked and it crashed into the far wall, breaking into a thousand pieces.

"You throw like a girl," Richie laughed.

"I *am* a girl, you cretin," she threw back at him.

"Cretin? Ah, ah, ah, Amanda," Richie admonished, shaking his finger at her, "You're mistaking me for one of your many boyfriends."

"Ooh!" Amanda shrieked, looking around for something else to throw. Richie graciously tossed her a Dresden figurine which she immediately launched back at him. It, too, smashed against the wall behind him. 

"Those aren't knick-knacks you're tossing around, you know?" Duncan loudly pointed out. "Why don't you two act your ages?"

"Ha!" Richie scoffed with a laugh, earning a glare for his trouble. "If you wait for *her* to act her age those clothes will be back in style."

"That's it!" Amanda screeched, and started toward him with claws unsheathed.

Duncan grabbed her as she passed and pulled her up against his side before she could commit any acts of mayhem.

"If that *child* makes one more crack about my clothes, I'll disembowel him!"

"Yeah, right, and what about the digs she keeps making about how I'm 'wet behind the ears?'" he came back, screwing up his face at Amanda who mimicked the action.

"All I said was that his motorcycle should have come equipped with training wheels," she retorted, smiling sweetly at the young man.

A moment later, a crystal paperweight shattered into a million pieces as it struck the wall behind her.

"You almost hit me with that!" Amanda fumed.

"Good!" Richie came back.

"All right, that's it! The next person who throws something is going to regret it!" Duncan shouted, at wits end.

"Oh?" Amanda said, turning to him with hands-on-hips. "And what are you going to do, MacLeod, spank us?" she taunted, earning a snort from Richie.

"I just might!" he retorted, just as angry as she was at this point.

"Yeah, you and what army?" Richie came back, before dismissing the subject and turning back to glare at his female opponent.

MacLeod narrowed his eyes at the pair and did a slow simmer. He turned to find Methos regarding him expectantly and an evil smile spread across the Scot's face. "Shall we?" Methos' mouth twitched. "Let's. You game Dawson?"

"Hey, leave me out of this," Joe instructed, hand raised. "I just hope you two know what you're doing."

The two men casually stepped into the fray and Duncan tapped the younger Immortal on the shoulder.

"Hey, Rich?"

"What?" Richie demanded distractedly, his mind on the battle.

Duncan motioned toward Methos over his shoulder. "Meet the army."

"Huh?"

Duncan merely smiled and grabbed Richie by the arm, spinning him around quickly while Methos dropped into the nearest chair and pulled Richie facedown over his knees with the help of a mighty shove from MacLeod. A short but violent struggle followed as Richie tried to gain some leverage while in a very awkward position.

"Can't you hold him still?" Duncan demanded, as one of Richie's legs nearly kicked him in a decidedly vulnerable spot.

"Would *you* like to try this?" Methos asked testily, trapping Richie's legs under his right one and fighting to control the kid's flailing fists. The string of obscenities that spewed from Richie's mouth he was trying to ignore. 

Watching from the sidelines, Amanda was barely able to contain her amusement at what she considered a just comeuppance. She practically skipped over to her bag and, after rummaging through it a moment, extracted a very solid-looking teak hairbrush. She hurried over to Duncan and handed it to him. "With my blessings," she offered smiling, before backing away to stand with Dawson.

"Damn it, let me up!" Richie protested, trying to break the hold on his arms and legs.

"Tsk, tsk, such language from one so young," Methos murmured, nodding to Duncan, who nodded back before whapping Richie soundly on the seat with the back of the hairbrush.

"Ooowww!" Richie yelled. "Damn it, that hurts!"

"I think we have his attention," Methos remarked drolly, tightening his hold and bracing his legs as Richie's struggles nearly succeeded in knocking over the chair.

"I think you're right," Duncan agreed. He landed a number of solid whacks while Richie yelped and called curses down on his head. Glancing to his side he noticed Dawson watching the spectacle grimly, though Amanda smiled broadly at his side. That would have to be remedied.

"Here," he said, offering Methos the hairbrush and walking away.

"Here?" Methos sputtered. "What do you mean 'here?' MacLeod!" 

In order to accept the brush, Methos had to release one of Richie's arms, which making containing the kid's struggles considerably more difficult.

Duncan leaned against the bulkhead and eyed Amanda. "Enjoying yourself?"

Amanda managed to look guilty for only a moment before a smile stole over her face. "Well, he deserves it, doesn't he?" she asked innocently.

"He was acting like a ten-year-old," Duncan stated, shrugging.

"Exactly. An *obnoxious* ten-year-old," she expounded.

"An obnoxious ten-year-old," he agreed.

"So, he brought this on himself," she said smugly.

"I'm glad you think so, Amanda. Because he's not the only one who's been acting like a child."

The meaning behind his words hit Amanda a second too late to save her from being scooped up under MacLeod's arm and dragged, kicking and screaming, to the couch.

"Amanda, I'm bigger than you, so you might as well just take it. Ow!"

"Having trouble, MacLeod?" Methos inquired, seemingly having a few of his own as Richie's flailing fist nearly collided with his nose. "She bit me!" Duncan sputtered, resting his elbow on Amanda's back as he examined the rapidly healing bite mark on his hand.

"Ha!" Richie blasted, finding humor in the situation for the first time.

"No comments from the peanut gallery, if you please," Methos chided, whapping him again, though his enthusiasm for the task was ebbing along with his ability to hold the kid still and the whack was a mere shadow of those that preceded it.

Duncan, however, was just getting into the swing of things...quite literally. His hand beating out a steady tattoo across the thin seat of Amanda's silk mini-skirt while she screamed out threats of retribution in tones an octave above normal.

Taking advantage of Methos' sudden apathy, Richie wrapped his free hand around the rear leg of the chair and pulled outwards, shifting his weight away from that side at the same time. The leg gave way with a very satisfying snap and the chair collapsed upon it throwing both of its occupants to the floor.

Richie rolled to his side, the wind temporarily knocked out of him; Methos lay prone on what now amounted to an expensive pile of kindling.

"Well, that was fun," the ancient Immortal mused drolly, glowering up at a laughing Dawson. He sat up gingerly and received a hard right to the jaw from an enraged Richie for his troubles, knocking him flat on his back again. Richie rapidly climbed to his feet, shaking out his smarting right hand and clapping his left to the seat of his pants as he bit back a groan. He glared briefly at Joe, looked daggers at Duncan, then opened his mouth and shut it again as if he couldn't find the words. He settled for a growl of frustration that expressed his feelings quite nicely, before grabbing his jacket and stalking up the stairs and out the door. The roar of his motorcycle sounded and receded into the distance.

Smothering another laugh at the way the tables had been turned, Joe leaned forward and offered Methos a hand up.

"Thanks," Methos muttered, then stepped over to the couch and presented Duncan with the item in his right hand. "You might need this, MacLeod," he said, placing the hairbrush in the Scot's open palm.

Amanda's smothered shriek rose out of the cushions. "Methos, you lousy son of a...owwww!"

A half dozen or so swats later, Duncan lost his taste for the game as well and pulled Amanda to her feet, backing away to put a safe distance between them.

"Now, Amanda," he lectured warily, one hand outstretched to ward off her attack.

"What?" she asked idly, eyes glittering dangerously as she straightened her clothes. "Oh, don't expect me to sink to your level, MacLeod," she sniffed disdainfully. "I couldn't return the little 'favor' you just did me if I dared, so I won't give you the satisfaction of trying." She stepped around him, sat down very carefully and picked up a magazine from the table, flipping through the pages in silence.

Methos sidled up to the Scot with one eye on Amanda. "This isn't the reaction you were expecting, is it?"

"No," Duncan admitted, frowning.

"Mmm. Be afraid, MacLeod. Be very afraid," he advised ominously, moving off toward the desk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Richie opened the door slowly, wincing at the resulting creak, and stepped inside, closing it carefully behind him. 

"Trying to sneak in?"

He started and spun around to find Amanda curled up on the couch, peering around the side of the fireplace at him.

"Just didn't feel like seeing anyone," he muttered, hunching his shoulders underneath his jacket.

"Well, relax. MacLeod made a remark about needing some fresh air and disappeared in that little car of his."

Richie just continued to lurk in the entranceway as if testing the waters, until she took pity on him.

"Don't just stand there. I won't bite, you know."

Richie raised an eyebrow and frowned down at her-a look that reminded her all too much of a certain Scot.

"All right, I won't bite *again*," she promised.

"Thanks," he grunted in response, stepping down to the lower level and appearing a little sheepish.

"I'm surprised you're riding your bike so soon."

Richie's eyes narrowed as he searched her face for some dig in that comment but, finding none, he shrugged again.

"It's not exactly comfortable, but I sure wasn't gonna stick around here all day and watch them gloat."

"You needn't have worried about that. Joe had Watcher business to attend to and Methos practically ran out of here with that oh-so-special book of Duncan's. He said something about finding my sudden fascination with his neck somewhat unsettling." She shifted on the couch, closing her eyes briefly against a groan.

"So how come bruises don't heal right away?" he asked, studying her.

This time Amanda's eyes narrowed, but all she saw on his face was commiseration. 

"I'm not sure. The skin never actually discolors, and they do heal quickly, just not right away. Maybe our immune systems don't consider them a threat, or something like that," she countered, flipping a hand in the air impatiently.

"Yeah, well, a paper cut's not much of a threat either, but they heal almost as soon as we get them."

"Yes, well, a paper cut *could* get infected, I suppose, and cause bigger problems. Oh, I don't know. Go ask your Doctor Anne," Amanda replied ungraciously.

"She's not *my* doctor Anne," Richie muttered sullenly and carefully lowered himself onto the couch, wincing despite his best efforts. The unhappy pair sat in a companionable silence for several minutes, staring into the fire. Richie's subdued laughter caught Amanda by surprise and she eyed him suspiciously.

"What's so funny?"

"Us," he replied cryptically, causing her frown to deepen. "No, I mean, it's the first time we've been in the same room with each other without arguing in over a week."

"Yeah, I guess it is," she admitted, smiling slightly. "Of course, that doesn't have anything to do with what happened this afternoon," she clarified.

"No, of course not," Richie agreed. "We just got tired of fighting, that's all."

"Right," she assented.

"Right," Richie echoed and flashed her his patented killer smile.

It was difficult for anyone, even an eleven-hundred-year-old Immortal, to resist that boyish smile and Amanda found herself smiling back at him before she caught herself.

"This doesn't mean I've forgiven you for telling me I'm fat," she informed him, drawing her shawl more closely around her.

"Amanda, I never said you were fat," Richie said on a heavy sigh. "You're gorgeous. You know it, I know it, everybody knows it."

"You're just saying that," she came back, openly preening.

Richie rolled his eyes heavenward, wondering if he'd ever understand the fairer sex. He somehow doubted it.

"You know, if you were mad you should have just said so. You didn't have to bang up my bike," he grumbled, some of his earlier anger resurfacing.

"But that was an accident," Amanda answered, looking completely innocent of any wrongdoing.

Richie merely tilted his head to the side and looked at her, disbelief stamped clearly on his face.

"No, really, Richard. I was angry, I admit, but I would never have crashed your bike on purpose. Please believe me," she entreated, taking his hand.

Richie never could resist Amanda when she poured on the charm; and whatever remained of his anger crumbled.

"Yeah, okay. I guess it could have been an accident," he allowed grudgingly.

"Of course it was. I would never be vindictive."

She released his hand and leaned back against the arm of the couch, tapping her cheek with one perfectly manicured finger. "Now...how are we going to get even with MacLeod and his little friends?"

"Amanda..."

"Oh, don't 'Amanda' me, Richie. And don't tell me you haven't envisioned all sorts of lovely means of torture for those three," she said, watching him closely.

Richie opened his mouth to deny it, but nothing came out.

"See, I knew we were kindred spirits."

"Amanda, thinking about it and doing it are two entirely different things," he rationalized.

"Oh, pish! Don't turn into a Boy Scout on me now, Ryan." She bent forward to lean on his shoulder. "Did you like being treated like a child?"

"No, but..."

"Do you think it was their place to correct our behavior, those pompous male..."

"No, it wasn't but..."

"Wouldn't you like to see them suffer, just a little?" she egged him on.

"That could be fun...but..." 

"But what?!" she demanded, exasperated.

Richie looked over at her, then at the fire, then back to her again before a crooked smile lit his face. A smile reminiscent of ones that in years past would have had MacLeod preparing a lecture while Tessa hid the breakables.

"What do you have in mind?" he asked, eyes alight with mischief.

"Partners?" Amanda proposed, hand outstretched.

"Partners," Richie agreed, shaking the proffered hand. "So where do we start?"

"At a bar on Rue Dulaine," she said, gathering up her purse and shoes.

"Why there?" Richie asked, at a loss.

"Because we have a war to plan...and I need a drink," she replied, climbing to her feet and pulling him up beside her. "Come on, Richie, you're driving."

Maxmillian's was dimly lit, with music that blared at a volume that ensured no one more than a few inches away could her a word you said. This fit in with their plans nicely.

Refusing to acknowledge the rather battered condition of her hindquarters, Amanda sat perched uneasily on the edge of a cushioned stool. Not being a glutton for punishment, Richie preferred to simply lean against the bar.

After taking a quick swallow of her drink, Amanda turned to her companion. "Okay, what's the one thing about me that annoys MacLeod?"

"The *one* thing?" Richie snorted before answering. "Okay, how about the way you spend his money hand-over-fist?"

"No, not that," Amanda replied, dismissing the possibility as being preposterous.

"Your cooking?"

Amanda's eyes narrowed dangerously at that. "Uh, I mean, that you don't cook often enough," he rephrased diplomatically.

"Oh. No, not that, either."

Richie shrugged. "Your lifestyle," he guessed.

"Exactly," she said smiling. "I'm a thief. I always have been and I always will be," she stated matter-of-factly. "He can't change that and it drives him crazy. And he pulled you out of a life of crime," she continued, despite Richie's frown at her words.

"It wasn't exactly a 'life of crime,'" he retorted defensively.

"Yes, well, how do you think he'd react if you and I pulled a little heist together? A very high-profile heist," she added.

Richie smiled evilly. "I think he'd probably rupture an artery...before he killed us both."

"He'd feel compelled to try and stop us."

"How's he going to stop us if he doesn't know about it?" Richie asked reasonably.

"We'll have to leave little clues around for him to find, of course."

"Of course," he laughed.

"Now, let's see...we'll need supplies and a timetable. Where's my purse?"

Richie couldn't help but smile as Amanda went into burglar-mode. She was quite obviously in her glory as they plotted their movements down to the second, toasting each new idea until they had quite an array of empty bottles in front of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Where are they?" Duncan muttered for the third time in the last half hour, pacing to and fro across the width of the barge.

"You don't think they went off somewhere to fight, do you?" Methos pondered aloud, earning a glare from the worried Scot. "Don't you have something to do...somewhere else?" he asked pointedly.

"Not a thing," Methos answered innocently.

The blare of a motorcycle's engine hit them seconds before an unmistakable buzz crossed their senses. They turned to watch Richie's bike roar into view, its two riders clinging precariously to its back. The bike stopped a few feet short of a nose-dive into the dark waters of the Seine and the helmeted passenger disengaged herself from her companion, dropping the headgear carelessly to the ground.

Amanda was giggling uncontrollably as she slid off the motorcycle, trying to pull Richie along with her, despite his protests that the stand wasn't down yet. She continued to tug on his jacket from the side until they toppled to the pavement together in a jumble of arms and legs, just barely missing being crushed as the motorcycle joined them a moment later.

"Now look what you did," Richie grumbled as they clambered to their feet.

"Aw, it won't hurt it any. Come on," she urged, still tugging on his arm.

Duncan and Methos watched as the twosome wove their way to the gangplank, both men reaching out simultaneously to grab them as they came perilously close to sidestepping into the river.

"Oh, man, rough seas," Richie commented, swaying slightly and looking a little green as they reached the relative safety of the deck.

"Actually, I believe this is what's know as a 'dead calm,'" Methos remarked drolly.

Amanda jerked her head up in sudden interest at that. "*Who's* dead?" she asked, imprudently holding onto Richie's arm to keep her balance.

"Some guy named calm. Don't know him," Richie supplied and hiccupped loudly. He threw Methos and Duncan a reproachful look. "'Scuse you," he chided as he and Amanda brushed past them, lurching two steps to the side for every step forward.

"This should prove to be quite interesting," Methos informed the Scot before following. He didn't get far, running into a small gridlock just inside the doorway and turning back to Duncan with an amused grin. "Quite interesting," he repeated, stepping back as Duncan charged past him, nearly barreling into the others.

Richie and Amanda were apparently having a difficult time trying to descend the stairs side by side, but couldn't seem to grasp the concept of 'single file' in their current state.

Duncan finally lost patience with their attempts and snatched Richie back by the collar, allowing Amanda to stumble her way to the bottom with Richie following right on her heels after receiving a small push from MacLeod.

"Just how much have you two had to drink tonight?" Duncan demanded as he and Methos joined them at the bottom.

"Juss three...bottles," Richie divulged happily.

"Three *bottles*!" Duncan exclaimed, with a disapproving frown.

"Of what, exactly?" Methos inquired calmly.

"Bourbon," Richie answered. "Scotch," Amanda chimed.

They looked at each other, then back at him.

"Scotch," Richie said. "Bourbon," Amanda uttered.

The pair dissolved into giggles at that.

The sound of a stomach growling loudly interrupted their mirth and had Richie snickering. "Hungry, Amanda?"

"That wasn't me," she countered indignantly.

"Oh, yeah, right. Told you I was hungry before, didn't I?" He snatched up a lone apple from a bowl on the credenza. "Ah-ha, last one," he announced triumphantly.

"Fight you for it," Amanda offered, grinning.

"To the death?"

"What other kind of fight is there?"

"Cool."

"All right, wait a minute you two," Duncan ordered, moving forward purposefully. He grunted when Richie, assuming what was meant to be an en garde position, smacked him in the face with the arm he flung out as a counter-balance.

"Well done, MacLeod," Methos snorted, patting the Highlander on the back as he stepped clear again.

"Oh, shut up." 

Amanda and Richie took up positions facing each other and nodded solemnly. 

"Have at it, you filthy knave," Amanda called out, issuing the challenge.

With that they proceeded to draw plastic cocktail swords out of thin air and 'have at it' to the relieved bemusement of their audience.

In an effort to score a hit with her tiny weapon, Amanda attempted a move that was inadvisable in her current condition and tripped over the Aubusson rug, landing less than gracefully on her bruised posterior.

"Ooohh!"

Richie reeled over to her side and managed to pull her to her feet, although the pair just barely kept from tipping in the opposite direction.

"Are you injured, my lady?" he asked with a gallant, if slightly off-balance, flourish.

"Who are you calling a lady?" Amanda demanded, glaring at him suspiciously.

"You, you're the damsel in distress," Richie explained.

"I am not!"

"Yes, you are," Richie threw back, trying to stand upright with hands-on-hips and weaving slightly. 

Amanda's face fell and she flung herself into Duncan's arms. "But I don't want to be the damsel," she whined.

Somewhat at a loss, Duncan stroked her back consolingly. "Then you don't have to be," he reassured her, as he would a small child.

Amanda looked back over her shoulder and stuck her tongue out at Richie. "See, I don't have to be the damsel."

"Well, I'm sure not gonna be the damned damsel in distress," Richie said petulantly, glaring at them both.

A bewildered Duncan caught Methos' eye over Amanda's shoulder.

The older man just shrugged. "Well, at least they're not throwing things."

"Right. This is *much* better, thanks," he muttered, sarcasm dripping.

Amanda tried to step back out of his arms but her legs refused to hold her and he ended up grabbing her again before she slid to the ground.

"Oops-sa-dazey," she sing-songed, giggling madly.

"I think it's time for bed, Amanda," Duncan advised soberly, maneuvering her in that direction.

"That sounds wonnerful, Dunkie," she murmured, trying to look provocative and failing miserably. She gave a small hiccup and glanced up at Duncan, frowning.

"Um, excuse me," he intoned.

She nodded, satisfied, then leaned into him and tickled his chest playfully.

"Stop that," he scolded, pulling away the hand that was trying to unbutton his shirt.

"Oh, don't be a poop," she mumbled drowsily and leaned her head against his shoulder.

Amanda's eyes drifted shut and she sighed dreamily, her legs crumpling beneath her. Duncan picked her up and carried her the last few feet to the bed, balancing her weight in one arm while he yanked the covers back, then deposited her gently on the sheets. He rearranged her body into a more comfortable position, pulled off her shoes, and drew the covers over her, kissing her forehead.

"One down," he muttered to himself.

Methos, in the meantime, had his hands full with Richie who had decided that the thirteenth century ceremonial Kabuki mask mounted on the wall was staring at him and would have to be dealt with posthaste.

By the time Duncan joined them again, the young man had already taken an aggressive stance, facing the ornament. "There can be only one," he declared, reaching under his jacket. His hand came up empty. "Where's my sword?" he grumbled, feeling along the lining. He pulled the jacket off and shook it mercilessly. "I know it's in here somewhere." After another minute of fruitless searching, he threw the jacket to the floor in frustration. "Damned secret compartment," he muttered, kicking at it.

"They *can* be a problem," Methos empathized, picking up the discarded garment and trying not to smile as he located the sword lying safely within its folds.

"Don't worry, Rich, it's happened to all of us," Duncan offered placatingly.

"Several times, actually. Though thankfully never with serious consequences," Methos admitted. "Maybe this battle is best left for another time," he suggested. "After all, he's not going anywhere," he added, motioning to the mask.

"Friend of yours, huh?" Richie asked, squinting at him. "Thass okay, I didn't really feel like fighting anyway. I know when to juss walk away, even if I do have a wet behind," Richie told them, then frowned. "Thass not right," he said, wrinkling his brow in deep concentration. "No, I mean, I've got ears behind...ummmm, wait..."

Duncan and Methos exchanged a look of amused confusion, then a smile lit the older Immortal's face.

"You mean you're wet behind the ears?"

"Good!" Richie approved, smiling widely and thumping him on the back, the sudden movement causing him to teeter dangerously close to the fireplace. Methos and Duncan grabbed him on either side and steadied him again.

"I need a drink," Richie muttered, shrugging them off and heading for the liquor cart.

"No, Rich, I think you've had just about all you can handle for one night," MacLeod asserted sternly, spinning him back around by one arm.

"Besides," Methos added, taking the boy's free arm once again, "It's time for all wet-behind-the-ears Immortals to go to bed."

"But I don't wanna go to bed," Richie slurred, attempting to pull loose with little success.

"Yes, you do," Methos came back, "You're very tired."

Richie stopped and looked at him uncertainly. "I am?"

"Yes, very tired," Methos repeated, nodding his head at the kid as he looked deeply into his eyes.

"Yes, very tired," Richie intoned, nodding his head right along with the ancient Immortal.

"How did you do that?" Duncan asked, obviously impressed. "He never does what I tell him."

"The power of suggestion-wonderful thing. Works best when they're not quite themselves. I'll teach it to you sometime."

Duncan and Methos half led, half carried their inebriated young friend to the large bed and sat him down carefully. Just the same, Richie winced when he made contact with the mattress and threw his head back, glaring up at the pair accusingly. The motion nearly toppled him over onto Amanda, but MacLeod grabbed the boy's shirt front and maneuvered him around till his head landed on the pillow. Methos lifted the young Immortal's legs onto the bed and pulled off his boots before straightening to stand beside Duncan and gaze down at the sleeping pair.

"Looking at them now it's hard to believe how much of a handful they are when they're conscious."

MacLeod smiled at that, grabbing a blanket and drawing it up over Richie, who mumbled something about slaying dragons before rolling over on his side and reaching for a nonexistent sword.

"The dragons have all been vanquished, Richie, now go to sleep," Duncan ordered gently, placing the boy's arm back beneath the blanket.

Richie murmured something unintelligible and burrowed further into his pillow. Amanda, in search of more warmth, snuggled up to his back and sighed in contentment.

"I suppose you're glad you stuck around now."

"Well worth the price of admission," Methos replied. "But it's late-or early, depending on how you look at it-and I'm leaving. Don't expect me to be here later when they're both nursing hangovers. This time, Highlander, you're on your own."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Richie and Amanda groaned their way through Duncan's unnecessarily loud morning ablutions about seven hours later, ultimately throwing several pillows in his direction in an attempt to shut him up.

It was only after he had loaded his favorite Pavaratti CD, and added his voice in accompaniment, that they forced themselves to crawl out of bed.

The duo spent the next hour fighting each other for the bathroom, and eventually wound up sprawled across the living area furniture, tentatively nursing tall glasses of fruit juice while a dark-haired Scot vented his spleen.

"What were you thinking?!" Duncan ranted, pacing in front of them, his suppressed worry from the night before resurfacing now that they were sober enough to listen.

"Lecture number two hundred and thirty-three, coming up," Amanda announced, flopping back in her seat with a yawn.

"Two hundred and thirty-three? Thou shalt not play basketball inside the barge?" Richie asked with a puzzled frown.

"No, no, that's number two hundred and thirty-*eight.* Number two hundred and thirty-three is—thou shalt not drink and drive," she corrected.

"Oh, right."

They both turned toward Duncan then and made an exaggerated effort to look attentive.

"You know, I think I liked it better when you two weren't getting along," Duncan observed, glowering down at them. "This is serious," he firmly reminded them, though from the looks on their faces he was obviously the only one who thought so.

"You're a fine one to give lectures on sobriety, MacLeod, you who drank your way across Europe in the early 1700s."

"Really?" Richie asked, finding the conversation of sudden interest.

"No, *not* really," Duncan snapped. "And that's beside the point," he said, contradicting himself. "In the 1700s, I couldn't run someone down while out on a drunken binge."

"He probably ground dozens of poor peasants into the mud under the hooves of that horse of his, and doesn't even remember it," Amanda whispered, just loudly enough to be clearly heard several feet away.

Duncan spun around and glared at her suspiciously. "What?"

"Oh, nothing."

Duncan stepped toward her, his mouth working soundlessly, but Richie cut him off.

"Come on, Mac, give it a rest. It was three a.m., the streets were empty, and it was only a five minute drive. Anyway, I wasn't exactly thinking clearly at the time," he grumbled, rubbing his temples.

"That's just what I mean. You *weren't* thinking clearly." He assumed his standard lecturing tone then. "Richie, being an Immortal carries a certain responsibility..."

Amanda rolled her eyes at that, and Richie issued a loud groan and dropped his head down on his crossed arms. He raised it again slightly to peer up at the other man.

"I can't handle all of this on an empty stomach," Richie groused, the organ in question gurgling loudly as if trying to validate his argument. "Besides, I left my 'Immortal Handbook' in my other pants, Mac," he added sarcastically.

"Fine! Eat!" Duncan railed, snatching up his trenchcoat. "I've got things to do that don't include babysitting the two of you," he proclaimed, and stomped out, doing his damndest to slam the door behind him.

"Babysitting?" Richie repeated, eyeing Amanda.

"Must be the Scottish nanny in him," she replied, grinning. 

"Yeah, right," Richie choked, then broke out laughing despite the fact that his brain felt like it was trying to ooze out his ears. "Mac in an apron-"

"With lace edging," Amanda agreed wickedly.

"-a squalling kid in one hand and his sword in the other..."

They collapsed upon each other, alternating between boisterous laughter and groans of dismay as their hangovers protested the volume of their mirth. "I...I don't know," Amanda managed to gasp out after several minutes, "The whole picture holds a certain appeal."

Richie could only shake his head at the faraway look on her face. "Man, it's a good thing Immortals can't have kids. At eleven hundred plus, your biological clock would be deafening," he sniggered, and was rewarded with a pillow smacking him on the side of his head with enough force to knock him to the floor.

"What was that for!?"

"Sorry," Amanda said brusquely. "It slipped."

"It slipped," he muttered, climbing back onto the couch and wiping spilled juice from his jeans. "Women."

He glared at her briefly, weighing the temptation of making another dig against the very real threat of receiving another blow to his already pounding skull, and decided to play nice, giving her a rueful grin instead which was grudgingly returned. "I suppose we should get back to business," he offered, setting his nearly-empty glass aside.

"I suppose," she agreed, getting to her feet. She swayed slightly and closed her eyes against an attack of vertigo, dropping back onto the couch with a dramatically loud moan. "Later," she mumbled. "Much...much later."

Richie nodded in agreement and settled back against the cushions. "Game called on account of...sunshine," he declared, gratefully closing his own eyes to the bright rays pouring through the portholes. 

The war would just have to wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Methos wasn't surprised to see Duncan walk through his door two hours before their appointment. "Drove you out, did they?"

"No, they didn't drive me out," Duncan replied gruffly. "I just thought I'd check in and see what kind of progress you're making with that book of mine."

"I see," the older man murmured noncommittally. "Well, you were right, it's a mix of Hittite and Palaic. I know them both-enough to get by at any rate-but they're cuneiform languages and not quickly translated into good English. You may as well count on it taking me a few days to muddle through. Why don't you just send it on to the University in Seacouver and let their language department tackle it?"

"Sure, and how many of them do you think read Hittite?" he asked irascibly. "I *am* going to send it on to them, but I'd like to have it translated beforehand. It'll be quite a coup for their antiquities exhibit."

"Well, as long as you're here you can help me organize and take notes. Unless of course you'd like to discuss what's really on your mind."

Duncan frowned distractedly and wandered about the room picking up items at random, then sighed and turned to face the other man. "Something's not right," he stated cryptically.

"We're talking about Amanda and Richie here?"

The Scot waved a hand at him as if this were perfectly obvious before resuming. "For days they're fighting like cats and dogs. We stepped in and..." He threw the other man a rueful frown, "we stepped in," he repeated, leaving it at that. "Richie runs out, Joe leaves, you leave...I leave. You and I return later and they're *both* gone. They finally come strolling in *together* in the wee hours of the morning-crocked to the gills. No sign of anger. Not towards you or me, and not towards each other," he reflected. "And this morning they're thick as thieves, as if the last two weeks never happened at all." 

"So they buried the hatchet. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. There's just something funny about the whole thing."

"You know what I think?" Methos asked, pulling several tomes down from an upper shelf.

"What?"

"I think you worry too much," he concluded, placing the heavy books in MacLeod's arms. "Be a good fellow and move those into the other room," he instructed, and turned back to his work, dismissing the subject.

Duncan went, muttering under his breath on a variety of subjects-ranging from Immortals in general, to *his* friends in particular.

Disgruntled or not, Duncan spent most of the day engrossed in reading the translated sections of text and helping Methos hunt down the source materials needed to complete it. And if he seemed to be avoiding the barge altogether, well, it was for a good cause.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Duncan drove up beside the barge and he and Methos climbed out carrying the diskettes containing the fully translated text and the book itself. 

"I've been seeing Hittite in my sleep," Methos complained, running a hand across his eyes. "If I'd known how much time I would be devoting to this little project, I might have declined my help."

"No you wouldn't. You would have killed to get your hands on that book, and we both know it." 

"Possibly," Methos allowed. 

"And don't blame me for your lack of sleep. I never told you to stay up to all hours of the night reading it. It's your own fascination with Indo-European languages that made you do that. I didn't expect you to have it finished in just two days."

The sensation of another Immortal in close proximity interrupted them. 

"Amanda, or Richie?" Methos inquired.

"Both."

"You can tell that from here? I *am* impressed."

"I can't tell, but trust me. The last couple of days, wherever one is you're sure to find the other. Writing little notes, whispering, grinning at me when they think I'm not looking."

"Jealous?"

"Of what?" Duncan retorted defensively. "It's like living with the Bobbsey twins," he grumbled as they crossed the gangplank.

"Who?"

"*You* don't know who the Bobbsey twins are?" Duncan asked, clearly astonished.

"No. Should I?" He studied the Highlander a moment. "What are you smiling about?"

"It's just nice to find out that you don't know everything."

"I never claimed that I did," Methos sniffed as they went inside.

They found Richie and Amanda sitting side-by-side at the table with their heads close together, scribbling on a pad of paper and talking in hushed tones. As soon as they noticed their audience they separated with twin guilty expressions.

Amanda hastily ripped the top sheet of paper free and shoved it into her bag. "Home already? My, how time flies. Well, Richie and I will get out of your way," she quickly assured them as she jumped to her feet and headed for the door at a fast clip, making sure that Richie followed.

"Where are you two going?"

"Going," Amanda repeated dumbly. "Oh, we're um, we're going..."

"Shopping," Richie finished badly. He grimaced and threw Amanda a chagrined look.

"Shopping?" Duncan repeated incredulously. "You're going shopping with Amanda? Richie, you hate shopping."

"Yeah, well, I..."

"He promised to help me pick something out for a friend," Amanda hastily explained. "Didn't you, Richie?"

"Uh, yeah, I promised," he confirmed awkwardly.

Duncan looked at them skeptically. "A friend?"

"Yes," Amanda replied bluntly. "I do have friends, MacLeod," she sniped.

"Of course you do. I didn't mean—"

"Humph. Come on, Richie. I think we'd better leave before MacLeod puts his other foot in his mouth as well."

Richie followed, shaking his head reprovingly at the confused Scot, who simply stared after them. At some point the Highlander had lost control of the conversation completely.

As soon as they reached the upper deck, Amanda linked her arm through her younger companion's. "Perfect," she whispered. "Just perfect."

Duncan stood boring a hole into the closed door with his eyes, then dropped into the nearest chair. "They're up to something," he muttered, frowning at no one in particular.

"Just because they're not at each other's throats doesn't mean they're up to something," Methos pointed out, though he was of the same opinion. "Besides, what could they be planning?" MacLeod snorted loudly at that. "If those two have gotten together, anything's possible." His frown deepened to a scowl as he considered the possibilities.

Methos let him stew in his own juices for nearly thirty minutes before abandoning his attempts to enjoy a good claret and moving to the table and the discarded pad of paper. "Well, if you really want to know..." He took a pencil and rubbed the side of the leaded tip back and forth across the surface of the top sheet. "A little trick I learned back with Scotland Yard in '32," he disclosed, as Amanda's distinctive handwriting was revealed.

"Or from watching the Movie of the Week," Duncan offered, peering over his shoulder.

"Well, there *is* that." Methos finished with the pencil and set it aside, tilting the paper in the light to read it more clearly. "Rope, suction cups, glass cutter, flashlights. Nothing even remotely romantic about that, unless one of them has rather exotic tastes in foreplay," he quipped. "It sounds more like a shopping list for a robbery."

"Yes, it does," Duncan intoned darkly.

"That's not necessarily what it is, of course," the ancient Immortal reasoned.

"No? Then what is it?" 

Silence was his only answer.

"Amanda knows better than to try to involve Richie in one of her schemes. And he knows better than to let her," Duncan complained, with a confused mixture of exasperation and concern.

"What makes you think it was Amanda's idea?"

"Richie doesn't steal anymore."

"What about that Ferrari?"

"He 'borrowed' that," Duncan explained, dismissing the subject.

"Oh, yes, of course," Methos replied condescendingly. "He *borrowed* it."

The phone ringing caught Duncan in the middle of a caustic reply.

"MacLeod, it's Dawson."

"Joe. What can I do for you?"

"It's more what I can do for you." Nothing for a moment, then, "Oh, hell, I probably shouldn't even be talking to you about this."

"About what? This sounds serious."

"It might be nothing, but..." Joe hesitated again, "Did you know that Richie's been pumping me for information about the comings and goings of an Immortal here in Paris, by the name of Emil D'Moreau?"

"I've never heard of him," Duncan admitted.

"He's been around since the sixteenth century. Came into old money in the eighteen hundreds. The guy moves in pretty powerful circles, MacLeod, and he's good with a sword. Real good," he emphasized. "I just don't want the kid getting in over his head."

"Did Richie tell you why he wanted the information?"

"Just something about having a run-in with him and wanting to know what he's up against, in case this guy pushes it."

"He didn't mention anything about that to me," Duncan said, frowning.

"Well, I don't think there's any reason to worry. Latest info says D'Moreau is vacationing in Saint Moritz with his current wife. He'll be out of town for a month or more."

"Did you tell Richie that?"

"Yeah, of course. Look, maybe I'm just being a mother hen..."

"No. No, you did the right thing," Duncan mumbled distractedly. "Thanks, Joe. I appreciate the call."

"My pleasure. Hope you can figure it all out. I'll talk to you later." Joe hung up the phone and quirked an eyebrow expectantly at the young Immortal perched on the edge of his desk. 

"Thanks, D, that was great," Richie declared with a winning smile.

"No, problem, Rich. Besides, I felt like I owed you one after the other day." He leaned back in his chair and eyed the young man. "You know MacLeod's gonna blow his stack over this, don't you?"

"Of course. That's the whole point," Richie confessed, grinning from ear to ear.

Joe shook his head and laughed. "It's your skin, son." He narrowed his eyes at the kid then. "So how come I'm not on your and Amanda's 'hit list?'"

"You were, at first," Richie admitted. "But I convinced Amanda that you were just an innocent bystander—and that we could use your help," he added guiltily.

"Ahhh. Well, I'm glad I could be of use. I'd hate to be on her bad side."

"Hey, I've been there. It's not a lot of fun, trust me."

"So where is your lovely accomplice now?"

Richie shrugged. "Picking up a few things," he said enigmatically.

"Richie, you know what I told MacLeod about D'Moreau is true. He's not a man you'd want to tick off."

"Don't worry, Joe," Richie replied with a classic Ryan grin. "We've got it covered. Piece of cake."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Duncan was pacing again. It seemed to be all he could do lately. 

"Why didn't Richie tell me about this D'Moreau person? And why would he be helping Amanda plan a heist if he was worried about a seasoned Immortal coming after his head?"

"D'Moreau, I know that name from somewhere," Methos murmured, mulling it over while finishing off his wine. "D'Moreau...D'Moreau," he repeated like a mantra. "Ah, of course...the D'Moreau jewels."

Duncan stopped in mid-pace and swung around. "What jewels?"

"Diamonds, emeralds, rubies, the usual. Been in the family a hundred years or more. Not his family, of course, but..." he stopped when he noticed the other man's look of incredulity. "Don't look so surprised. I did a little work on his file a dozen or so years ago. I made a point of reading up on every Immortal in the Watcher files at some time or another, Highlander," he divulged. "I could probably tell you a few things about yourself you don't know."

"Never mind that," Duncan directed. "Stick to D'Moreau."

An imperceptible shrug then, "Fellow was an opportunist and married well. He hit the jackpot with his sixth wife, if memory serves. She left him a small fortune. Since then he's been acquiring a rather impressive collection of expensive baubles on his own. They're well protected, naturally. High-tech security system, lasers, the whole package. Only a real professional could break in-according to his file, at any rate. That's a little out of my area of expertise."

The Scot's grim expression gave him pause.

"I'm going to kill him," Duncan announced to the room at large.

"D'Moreau?"

"No. Richie," he said, enjoying the feeling of being one step ahead of the much older Immortal for once. "He's not worried about D'Moreau coming after him. He wanted a report on the man's activities. Richie was just making sure that he and Amanda wouldn't have any nasty surprises when they went after the jewels."

"Aren't you jumping to conclusions a little quickly?" Methos asked.

"No, it fits. Listen, yesterday I caught Richie repeatedly picking the lock on the door. He said he was just checking our defenses because of all the vandalism in the area, and that I should have a deadbolt installed." Duncan gave a harsh laugh. "I actually thanked him for being so conscientious," he admitted, narrowing his eyes dangerously. "No, he was making certain they had a window of opportunity for the robbery, and he used Joe to get the information he needed."

Methos's eyebrow rose as it all fell into place. "Resourceful child. I didn't think he had it in him."

"But he made a mistake," Duncan continued, grimly. "He didn't count on Joe calling me."

"And you're going to do what with the information, exactly?"

"I'm going to stop them," he stated, as if it were a foregone conclusion.

"Uh-huh. And what will happen if you order them not to go near the jewels?"

Duncan's frown was answer enough.

"Precisely. It will ensure that they rush right out and steal everything that isn't bolted down."

"So what are you suggesting? That I just sit back and let it happen?"

"If I thought it would do any good, I would," Methos muttered under his breath.

"I don't let my friends make mistakes if I can prevent it," Duncan proclaimed.

"Then *my* suggestion is that we catch them in the act."

"*We*?"

"In for a penny, in for a pound," Methos quoted smoothly. "I do have a stake in this. I may not have known them as long as you, but I do consider them friends. Though I *am* of the opinion that you should let them make their own mistakes." He held up a hand as Duncan started to protest. "But that's not going to happen, so... Since neither of them is likely to confide in you, you'll have to keep a close eye on them the next few nights. I'm assuming they won't attempt a theft of this magnitude in broad daylight."

"Even Amanda wouldn't try that if it wasn't necessary. And with D'Moreau out of town, it won't be." He ran a weary hand over his eyes. "Oh, why can't I have nice, boring friends who live normal, peaceful lives with...oh, I don't know...jobs? No, I have to surround myself with former thieves and cutpurses who seem to take great delight in making my life a living hell!" he shouted out the last, dropping down onto the couch.

"Feel better?"

"No."

"Good," Methos said shortly, ignoring the glare thrown in his direction. "Now, since they seem to be organizing, I suggest we do the same. I'll get the address of the estate and do a cursory examination of the grounds so we won't be fumbling around in the dark when the time arrives. In the meantime, you should try to pick up as many clues from them as possible, and if they leave together in the evening, call me and follow at an inconspicuous distance."

Duncan groaned, leaning back against the cushions. "Mechanics, bookkeepers...computer analysts. I could meet people like that if I just put some effort into it. It can't be that hard, I just have to try," he droned. Methos patted him on the shoulder sympathetically and left him to his fantasies.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Duncan did his best to hover over his barge-mates for the next forty-eight hours, earning the occasional odd look, particularly when he persisted in trying to read over one or the other's shoulders. He lost track of them only once-when they bolted for parts unknown while he was occupied in the bathroom early the second day. They reappeared more than two hours later, looking terribly pleased with themselves and carrying an assortment of packages. When Duncan asked to see what was in them, Richie told him it was a surprise and virtually ran to his room to stow them away from prying eyes. 

That was how Duncan interpreted his actions, at any rate.

When Richie and Amanda both made a point of announcing at lunch that they each would be going out to different parties of friends unknown to Duncan, he deduced that tonight was to be *the* night, and smiled secretly at how very transparent their attempts at subterfuge were. He completely missed the wink that passed between them as he turned away to retrieve the wine from the credenza.

Richie was purportedly dropping Amanda off at her destination before heading on to his own-which was their explanation for leaving together. Of course Duncan knew better, but told them to have a good time with a distracted wave as they headed off, then watched from a porthole as Richie retrieved a rather bulky knapsack from underneath the forecastle before they went on to his bike.

Duncan let them get out of sight before climbing into the Citroen and racing after. He caught sight of the bike once or twice winding its way toward the D'Moreau estate, validating his suspicions.

Duncan knew they wouldn't park the bike near the estate and he didn't intend to leave his car in close proximity, either. He drove several streets past his destination and pulled the car up beside a row of hedges, cutting the engine, pocketing the keys and loping back to his prearranged meeting place to wait for Methos. He couldn't resist the temptation to creep closer, and watched from a distance as Richie set to picking the lock on the door with a casualness that was alarming, barely suppressing the urge to run forward and smack his former protege silly as the minutes passed with still no sign of his ancient backup. 

Richie kept casting glances back over his shoulder as he and Amanda approached the front of the estate. "Should we wait? I don't sense them." 

"And you won't. I spotted MacLeod briefly when we made that sharp turn on Rue De Rivoli. I don't know what they've cooked up between them, but Methos will be along, if he's not already here somewhere."

"How long do we have to disarm the system after we get in before it wakes the entire neighborhood?" he asked as he pulled out his lock picking kit, thankful that he'd kept it all these years.

"Two minutes."

"Two minutes!" Richie squeaked. "Man, I hope Mac appreciates all the trouble we're going to just to piss him off," he muttered, bending to his task.

Richie cleanly and swiftly picked the lock on the outer door. He spared his accomplice a quick glance, waited for her nod of readiness, took a deep breath and pushed the ornately carved door open.

The piercing beep of the security alarm greeted them as soon as the portal was breached and the duo moved rapidly across the open foyer to meet the challenge of the alarm panel, making a point of leaving the front door ajar.

Amanda was ready, her hands moving steadily over the smooth steel of the face plate-the automatic screwdriver whirling inaudibly. Four metal pieces dropped into Richie's waiting hands and were deposited temporarily in the small pack at his side, his heavily laden knapsack at his feet. The slender wires winding through the recesses of the panel appeared almost black in his flashlight beam as Amanda probed the opening with slender fingers, her look one of great concentration. She found what she was searching for, fastened the clips to the filaments, and flipped the power source to the compact unit attached to Richie's belt.

From a point above them a red eye stared down. The infrared detector having already zeroed in on their thermal signals, waited benignly for the security system to pronounce sentence on them.

Richie shot Amanda a look that clearly said her supplier had better know what he was doing, as the numbers flashed across the digital screen at his waist, illuminating their eager faces in neon. It seemed to the would-be burglars as if hours elapsed instead of seconds, neither of them daring to breath, and then the numbered sequence appeared on the tiny glass face and locked in.

The complete silence once the recurrent beep from the security system ceased was startling in itself, and Richie literally jumped when Amanda touched his sleeve. Breaking into high-class businesses in Seacouver hadn't quite prepared him for this, and neither had his and Amanda's practice sessions. Seconds later the panel's glaring red light was replaced with a friendly green and the infrared eye winked out.

The Immortals were in business. 

Amanda repacked the equipment while Richie removed the clips and screwed the plate back into place, then hoisted his pack again. It bumped into Amanda's leg with a dull thump.

"What do you have in there?"

"Just a few odds and ends," he said, dodging the question. "Listen, you picked the time and place, but I've got a few plans of my own." Noting her worried frown, he added, "You'll like it. Trust me." A grand winding staircase curved off to their right leading up to the second floor, but they focused on their quarry which, according to Amanda's source, lay straight ahead. They stopped only long enough to place one of the flashlights on a table top with the beam pointing in that direction. 

"How did this friend of yours know the floorplan so well?" Richie asked softly, as they moved through several richly furnished rooms, leaving a second flashlight in one of these, as well.

"Richie, a lady doesn't kiss and tell."

"What's that got to do with you?" he countered bluntly, moving away to examine a display of medieval weapons before Amanda could form her scathing rebuttal. 

She moved on into the next room and stopped, feeling rather than seeing Richie enter and wait behind her.

"In here?"

"Yes," she replied, moving toward the billiard table in the center of the room. Amanda ran a hand along the underside of the wood edging the table and stopped as her hand came into contact with an unseen panel. She flipped the cover open and pressed the button her nimble fingers encountered within. 

Watching from the sidelines, Richie jumped back as the solid top of the billiard table slid away with a slight hum to reveal a large glass-enclosed display case. His mouth dropped as he spied the assortment of cut gems and jewel encrusted necklaces, bracelets and rings artfully arranged on midnight-blue velvet.

Amanda moaned deep in her throat-a sound more appropriate in the boudoir-and raised the glass lid.

"Amanda..."

"Oh, I'm just taking a closer look," she groused, hushing him. "It doesn't hurt to look."

"Yeah, all right," he allowed, walking around to gape at the gems on the far side. "Look," he said, pulling Amanda from her reverie, "I've got something I want to do. Stay here, okay? I'll be back in a couple." 

"Uh-huh," she murmured distractedly, her gaze locked on the sparkling jewelry at her fingertips.

Amanda wasn't aware of how much time had passed when she suddenly sensed another Immortal. Unsure if it was merely Richie moving back into range, or the others arriving, she quickly closed the cover and pushed the button under the lip, not bothering to watch as the billiard table slid back into place. She crept back toward the front door, watching for signs of her younger companion, and froze when the beam of a lone flashlight played back and forth across the foyer area. she thought. Amanda did an about-face and scurried for the billiard room once more, sensing yet another Immortal as she approached.

"Richie? Richie..." she whispered trying to determine the direction of his buzz. A finger tapping her on the shoulder had her whirling around with a gasp. Richie stood behind her holding his now empty satchel.

"Where were you?" she hissed.

"Just leaving a few surprises here and there," he replied with a cocky grin.

"Come on," she urged. "They're already inside." She led the way unerringly to the rear door. "They come in the front...we go out the back." They ran fleetly to the end of the property, skirting the hedges along the drive. 

"Wait," Richie called when Amanda turned right. "The bike's this way."

"I know, but it's not your motorcycle we want to find just now. And besides," she added, linking her arm through his, "I want you to tell me all about these little surprises of yours."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Minutes earlier, Duncan had just about decided to head inside on his own when he sensed another Immortal. Methos came into view, walking nonchalantly as though out for a late night stroll.

"What took you so long?" Duncan demanded, trying to keep his voice down. "They've been inside for twenty minutes."

"There was a delay on the Metro."

"The Metro? You took the damn Metro? I could have picked you up!"

"And just who would have been trailing them? They might have had another house in mind all along and we would have waited here half the night for nothing."

"Well, they didn't have another house in mind," Duncan argued, dragging the other man along beside him. "I watched them break into this one-from a safe distance," he added, before Methos could protest. 

They didn't sense the others as they approached the front of the residence, which meant that Richie and Amanda were already gone, or a far enough distance away within the house to be out of range. The front door stood partially open, and they hesitated only minimally before going inside. After taking a minute to adjust to the surroundings, Methos went directly to the lighted display panel on the wall.

"The system's been disarmed all over the building. They're good, MacLeod. I'll give them that."

"That's the problem," Duncan muttered. "They're too good." He strode off then toward a light in an adjacent room. He picked up the flashlight and scanned the beam around the room. "It doesn't look like anything's out of place in here. Why would they leave this behind?" he pondered aloud, holding out the flashlight.

"Maybe we interrupted them."

"Maybe." Duncan didn't sound convinced. He motioned to Methos and kept his course, wandering through several more rooms and straight to another lit flashlight, but he had yet to sense the others.

Methos picked up the second flashlight and looked at it oddly, as if he'd never seen one before.

"This isn't right," Duncan mumbled, shaking his head. "The door, the flashlights—They're leaving an obvious trail behind them," he criticized.

"I had noticed that. Maybe they're just overconfident."

"Amanda's always overconfident, but she never leaves any evidence behind. This seems almost contrived. As if they knew we'd be following and are playing with us." Duncan's expression darkened considerably and he turned to find Methos looking nearly as grim.

"I feel like a blessed idiot," the ancient Immortal stated. "I suggest we leave...now. If they've already finished their business-which seems likely, under the circumstances-there's a remote chance that the security systems will be reactivated and I, for one, don't intend to be dragged off to jail."

Duncan nodded, already mapping out how he was going to make the rest of Amanda's and Richie's lives miserable. The unexpected sight of a rope dangling from the center of a doorway to his left had him sidestepping in that direction. Upon closer examination it was indeed a rope, and quite obviously not part of the normal decor. 

"Amanda's getting careless," he muttered under his breath, giving the rope a sharp tug.

A cardboard cut-out of MacCauley Culkin's head with mouth open and hands pressed to the sides of his face dropped from two wires to hang at eye level in front of him.

"Richie..." MacLeod ground out, seconds before a bucket of blue paint dumped its contents on his head.

Stifled laughter sounded from a few paces behind him, and he swivelled to glare at Methos as the paint ran in rivulets down his head and shoulders.

"Sorry, MacLeod, but you walked right into that one."

"Oh, and I suppose you wouldn't have?" Duncan threw back, wiping paint from his face with the back of one hand. 

"You don't live as long as I have without learning caution," he remarked loftily, stepping forward.

There was a sharp twang at floor level and Methos quickly glanced down to where a trip wire had sprung. Something propelled itself at him from the side and he turned instinctively to face it head-on. A small sack struck him in the chest, knocking him back several feet as white powder exploding in all directions. He coughed and spat out a mouthful of flour, glowering at Duncan through a white fog as the Scot burst into unrestrained laughter at his expense.

"You were saying... You know it's almost worth it, just to see the look on your face right now."

"If you're finished," Methos said primly, swiping at his clothing and striding determinedly for the door.

Duncan continued to snicker until they cleared the front drive. The pair headed for the car at a trot, dodging the lone set of headlights that came their way less than a block from their destination. They turned the corner and stopped short. Amanda and Richie-neatly blending into the night in their dark clothes-awaited them. Amanda reclined across the roof of the car while Richie lounged casually against the driver's door.

"Hey, Mac. How's it hangin?'" he inquired, smiling broadly.

Duncan glared at him with murder in his eye-the one that didn't have paint dripping into it-and pointed to the ground at his side. "Come here, come *here*."

"He doesn't look very happy," Richie remarked in an aside to his partner-in-crime, while maintaining a safe distance from the Scot.

"Awww. Smile, Duncan, don't be blue," Amanda quipped, batting her eyelashes at him.

Richie snorted and MacLeod growled deep in his throat, advancing on the merry pair.

Amanda quickly scooted to the far side of the roof, while Richie wasted no time in putting the car between himself and the irate Highlander.

"Problem?" Amanda inquired innocently. "Richie and I were just out for a little stroll, and he said, 'isn't that Mac's car?' and I said, 'you know, Richie, I believe you're right.'"

Duncan gave a laugh completely devoid of humor. "Funny, Amanda. All right, hand them over," he instructed, hand outstretched.

"Hand what over?"

"The jewels you stole."

"Jewels?" She pivoted on the roof of the car to face her accomplice. "Richie," she scolded, "Have you been stealing?"

"Who, me? Steal?" he asked, blue eyes wide. "Besides, I've been with you all evening."

"Oh, that *is* true. And, of course, *I* would never take something that didn't belong to me."

"That would be rude," Richie explained.

"Yes, very," she confirmed, facing Duncan once more. "Do you have any evidence to back up your accusation? Stolen property perhaps, or fingerprints? One will do," she said holding up one gloved finger.

Duncan muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath at that.

"There's such a deplorable lack of manners nowadays," she tsked.

"Shocking, ain't it?" Richie rejoined. "Next thing you know, people will be ganging up on their friends and knocking them around."

"No, not that!" Amanda exclaimed in horror.

"I've heard rumors," he confided.

"Are you two finished?" Duncan snarled.

"I don't know, are we?" Richie asked Amanda.

"I believe we are. I don't think I like your tone, Duncan. Come, Richard, let us take our leave," she said imperiously, letting him help her down from the roof of the car before sauntering off into the darkness. Richie followed, but stopped next to a silent Methos. "Need to get some sun there, buddy. You're looking a little pale," he commented, slapping the older Immortal on the arm and raising a cloud of white. He turned then and sprinted after Amanda, their laughter drifting back on the night breeze.

"They both should have been drowned at birth," Methos intoned dourly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took Duncan nearly two hours of vigorous scrubbing to rid himself of his blue camouflage. He swore throughout, mixing English, French and Gaelic imprecations as his mood dictated, and casting aspersions on the dubious parentage of both Richie and Amanda at a volume that threatened to shatter glass.

Methos arrived shortly thereafter, having adjourned to his own abode to clean up, but loathe to miss the imminent reunion.

For their part, the merry culprits had the good sense to stay clear of the barge for the remainder of the night, making their entrance only after the sun was well up, and standing at the top of the stairs as though poised for flight.

"Is it safe to come in?" Amanda asked in a small voice.

"Are you armed?" Duncan muttered sardonically.

"No more than usual."

Duncan briefly entertained the idea of trying to teach them a lesson by letting them believe he was still furious. That is until he recalled that trying to teach those two a lesson was precisely how this whole thing had gotten started. "Come in," he said on a deflated sigh, waving them forward.

Amanda bounced over to the couch and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, then sat down beside him and took his arm, holding it possessively.

Standing off to the side, Methos shook his head at the ease with which she won the Highlander over, but he had bigger fish to fry. The ancient Immortal strolled over to Richie and stared intently into his face-causing the young man to fidget self-consciously.

"What?" Richie finally demanded.

"You want to go out and jump in the river," Methos droned, looking deeply into Richie's eyes.

The kid returned the look, then tilted his head to the side and smiled. "Bite me."

Methos drew back and cleared his throat uncomfortably. He turned to find MacLeod contemplating him with eyebrow raised. 

"Well, it doesn't *always* work," he muttered defensively and headed for the kitchen.

Amanda transferred a quizzical look to Duncan. "What was that all about?"

"You don't want to know."

"Mmm," she murmured, snuggling up to his side and nuzzling his neck. "What's in your ear?" she asked, pushing his hair aside to get a closer look. "Oh...paint," she concluded, drawing her legs up beside her and trying to smother a grin.

Duncan glared dangerously in Richie's direction.

"Hey, if I can have bruises on my butt for the better part of a day, you can have a little paint in your ear," Richie snapped.

"You're not going to forgive me for that, are you?"

"Live in fear, Mac," was the cryptic reply.

"I recommend a truce," Methos announced, reappearing with an armful of beer bottles. "A cease-fire, a cessation of all hostilities on both fronts, a..."

"We know what a truce is, Methos," Amanda informed him dryly, accepting a beer and passing one to Duncan.

"Sorry. I wasn't sure just what they taught in the school system these days and one of us is barely out of his teens."

"Don't *you* start," Richie grumbled, dropping down on the arm of the couch, beer in hand.

"Mea culpa," Methos offered.

"Yeah, whatever," Richie replied.

Methos nodded and leaned back against the desk. "I can understand how you two manipulated MacLeod throughout this little game of yours, but what made you think I would go along for the ride?"

Amanda gave a very unlady-like snort at that. "What, you? Let Duncan handle this mess on his own? Pleeeaase. Face it, Methos, MacLeod's Boy Scout attitude is rubbing off on you."

He arched his eyebrow at that. "Dearest Amanda. I assure you, I have never in my life been a 'Boy Scout.'"

Amanda merely smile around a sip of beer. "Well, now that that's all settled," she said, "We can put the whole sordid affair behind us."

"Not so fast you two," Duncan said, grabbing her arm as she made to rise and pinning Richie in place with a glance. "There's still the little matter of stolen property," he informed them. 

"Oh, you're so cute when you try to look stern, MacLeod," Amanda quipped, oblivious to his dark scowl at her words.

She sighed and shot Richie a conspiratorial look, waiting for his nod before turning back to their host. "There *is* no stolen property. The plan was to make your lives miserable for a few days. We never intended to steal a thing," she admitted blithely.

Duncan searched her face carefully, then shook his head. "I don't think so. *You* pulled a job and didn't take anything? Come on, Amanda."

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"Not hard...impossible," he retorted. "You broke in, some of the jewels are missing, but you didn't take them," he stated, ticking each item off on his fingers. 

"How do you know something's missing? I doubt if either of you made it as far as the library."

"We didn't have to," Methos explained. "It's right here in the morning paper." He perused it hastily. "Apparently a neighbor spotted two oddly colorful sets of footprints that traced back to the D'Moreau estate."

Amanda glared briefly at Richie, who threw his hands out in a placating gesture, with accompanying shrug.

"They notified the gendarmes who found the door unlocked and, upon further investigation, discovered that some of the jewels were missing," Methos continued. "There is also some mention of a bizarre mess found near the entry to the sitting room. They're evidently still trying to sort out the significance of that one," he said, peering over the top of the paper at Richie, who grinned in response.

"Are you still going to tell me that you didn't take anything?" Duncan demanded.

"Well..." she hedged, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her slacks.

"Amanda..."

"Oh, you're such a goody-goody, MacLeod," she grumbled, frowning for all she was worth. She sighed and reached down the front of her blouse, slowly pulling forth a deep blue sapphire choker that glittered in the light from the fire.

Duncan immediately relieved her of her burden, shaking his head reproachfully. 

"According to the paper, *two* pieces were stolen," Methos helpfully pointed out. "The sapphire choker and a rare black diamond."

"I swear, I only took the necklace," Amanda vowed, hand raised.

Duncan and Methos studied her a moment, then all three turned thoughtful gazes in Richie's direction-finding the youngest Immortal studying the label on his bottle of beer in apparent fascination.

"Richie..."

"Huh?" he asked, gazing up at them with a look of pure innocence.

"Richie!" MacLeod again, in a considerably louder tone of voice.

"Okay, okay," Richie surrendered, scowling. He reached into his pocket and extracted the diamond, cradling it in the palm of his hand.

Duncan was looking thunderclouds at him.

"Hey, I'm honest, but I'm not *that* honest. I mean, come on, it was right in front of me. Besides, it was the smallest piece there. I didn't think they'd miss it," he justified with a shrug.

"Oh, they missed it all right," Methos said drolly, paper in hand. "It says here it's worth a quarter of a million dollars."

Richie gave a long whistle, showing the gem new respect. "Not bad for my first job in four years," he remarked brashly.

"Richie..." MacLeod commenced in his standard lecturing tone.

"You lied to me," Amanda interrupted, brushing past Duncan to face her former partner.

"I did not. I never said I didn't steal it," Richie reasoned.

"We weren't going to take anything. That was the plan," she reminded him.

Richie huffed scornfully. "Yeah, well, what do you call that?" he asked, motioning toward the necklace.

"A memento," she replied airily. "A memento of our first job together."

"Give me a break," Richie muttered, rolling his eyes. "Does Mac buy that crap?"

"Crap? Crap! Listen little boy..."

"Who are you calling a boy?"

"You, you...infant!"

"Hey, at twenty-two I'm in my prime. At eleven hundred plus, you're—Gee, what's the word I'm looking for? Oh, yeah—NOT!"

Duncan groaned and shook his head wearily, bringing his hand up to cover his eyes as the argument escalated.

"Life... is a circle," Methos toned philosophically.

"Oh, shut up."

Finis


End file.
